


Trophies

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, F/M, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1960s AU, with Petyr as a Madison Ave. executive and Sansa as his protégé and secretary. He's taken a rather unorthodox approach to educating her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophies

She has taken to leaving her scarves in her desk drawer.

True, she could make things simpler for herself and simply wear one every day. She certainly bought enough in the past few months that she could, if she wanted, have one that went with every outfit. But the few times she tried this Petyr let her know, with the set of his mouth, how much he disliked it. On those days he would always make sure to leave his marks well away from her neck.

On this day she makes her way back to her desk and selects one—lavender, it goes with her pale yellow dress—and ties it tightly, trying to hide he shy smile.

She wonders what the other sectaries think as she sits at her desk after lunch, the humming electric fan causing the scarf to brush the side of her cheek. The linen of her skirt is smooth against her bare backside, and she tries not to blush when she walks down the halls and pictures Mr. Baelish neatly folding her panties and placing them in his pocket, like you would a fine silk handkerchief.

She thinks that she’s successful at this subterfuge, and the glint she notices in his eyes when he leaves that evening tells her that he’s proud of her, really proud of her. Somehow it means so much more than any praise she gets for her work: it’s not just the thrill that runs down her spine, into her stomach, but the fact that he knows she can smile and hide and play just as well as he does.

Margaery gives her a pointed look when she arrives home, but Sansa ignores it. She helps her with dinner, radio playing softly in the background, windows opened to bring some comfort to this stifling Manhattan heat. She retires to bed soon after, complaining of a headache.

In bed she slips her hand between her legs and runs through everything that happened at lunch. She presses at the bruise on her neck with her other hand and comes after a sharp stab of delicious pain.

\----

The next morning he asks for cream with his coffee and she serves it black, trying to keep her face calm.

But it’s hard not to allow just a little smile when he looks at her knowingly and sighs with mock disapproval. “Miss Stark, has the heat gotten to you?”

“Perhaps,” she answers in her meekest tone, eyes cast down, looking up at him through long lashes. “Should I be punished sir?”

He tries to look put out but she can see him tremble, just slightly, with pleasure when she calls him ‘sir.”

“Yes I think so,” he says in a low voice. “Something new perhaps?”

She raises her eyes at these words and tries her best to remain calm with her heart pounding in her throat. When he reaches up to undo his silk tie she lets a soft gasp escape her lips.

Mr. Baelish smiles at that and reaches out to cup her face with one hand, touching her for the first time that day. She leans in instinctively, her sighs becoming moans when he grips one slender wrist.

He moves behind her, taking the other wrist in hand, and secures them tightly with the silk tie. Sansa’s lips are suddenly dry; it’s suddenly far too hot in this office.

“A new lesson,” he says when he is done, running his long fingers up and down her sides. She tests the restraints—they aren’t too tight, the tie doesn’t bite into her skin, but they are secure. She’s smiling, she knows she is, but he only seems to find that charming.

He rests a hand on the small of her back and gently pushes her down onto the desk, her cheek brushing the polished wood. He lifts her skirts roughly and she savors his strangled groan when he sees she deliberately forgot her underwear

“Slut,” he says with some degree of affection in his voice. “What am I going to do with you?” The blow comes soon after that and she pushes her lips against his desk to muffle her moan.

It comes out though, strangled, when she feels something warm and wet and oh so good at her entrance and realizes that it must he his mouth.

He’s never done this before. The blush burns her cheeks as she presses against his mouth, trying for more pressure, wishing her hands weren’t restrained. He’s teasing at her, lapping at her slit with his tongue, only brushing her clit, placing her on edge.

“Please,” she whispers into the polished wood, shaking all over from his attentions. He slides his tongue inside, just a bit, and teases her clit before pulling away and making her nearly choke on her screams.

“Don’t make a sound,” he says, running his hand over her sex. “Or I won’t let you come. Is that clear?”

She swallows, knows this is the smart thing, but still has to take some breathes before answering. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” She can hear the smile in Mr. Baelish’s voice, but he resumes his work. He’s good, really good, and she wonders how many women he has had like this before. But it doesn’t matter now, because now it is _her_ , and she can feel the pride in his every moment.

He’s more ardent now, responding to her softer mews. She trembles all over when she hears him undoing his belt, unzipping himself, when she feels the hitch in his mouth. She pictures his long, talented fingers wrapped around his cock and fights against her restraints.

He laughs at this, the sensation sending vibrations through her, and her whole body feels like it is on fire. She bites into her lip so hard she fears there might be blood, and wonders how he would react if she were to leave a bloody kiss against the polished wood.

He seems to break before she does, however, if his muffled groan is any indication. It takes him a second to gather himself but when he does he presses against her with more fever. His hands grip her thighs, nails ripping her nylons. She comes with force, body trembling, and she can feel him trembling too.

He cleans himself, adjust himself before he gently pulls her up, sliding her skirt back down over her ruined nylons. Petyr turns her around to face him and she sucks in a breath at the way he looks at her. His gaze is clouded. He brushes a strand of hair away from her cheek and kisses her, long and hard, for the first time.

Her heart is still beating when he breaks away. He averts his gaze from her for a moment, and if she’s not mistaken blushes a bit. The sudden intimacy seems to have finally undone him, and when he unties her wrists she takes his hand, smoothing her thumb along the back. He kisses her again, quite unexpected, and she savors the taste of herself on his lips.

“You should return to work,” he mutters. He reaches for the tie but she places it behind her back and smiles her sweetest smile.

“I think I deserve some reward, don’t you?”

Petyr looks at her in amazement, as if seeing her for the first time. But he mirrors her grin.

\-----

Later, she folds the tie neatly in her purse. She shoves it under her pillow when she gets home, and when one hand slides between her legs that night the other wraps itself around the silk.


End file.
